


Zielsicher

by JuliaJekyll



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Attraction, Boys Kissing, Desire, First Kiss, Fluffy Ending, M/M, One Shot, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 09:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8619019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaJekyll/pseuds/JuliaJekyll
Summary: John knows what he wants. What he wants is to kiss Paul.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, dear readers, to my latest McLennon fic!  
> The title is a German word that I don't really know how to translate into English. "Ziel" is a goal, and "sicher" means "sure", so if you're doing something "zielsicher" it basically means you're sure about what you want to achieve, which, in this fic, John definitely is ;)  
> Comments and kudos never fail to make me happy!

John wants to kiss him.

It's taken him ages to admit it to himself, but it's true. He wants to grab Paul's neck and pull until he's so close that the only thing that makes sense is for their mouths to touch, wants to feel those lips against his, wants to finally find out what they taste like. He doesn't even need to grab his neck, really; he'd be willing to do it with his hands tied behind his back, if need be—he doesn't want anything more than a kiss (albeit a hot and heavy one) but fuck, he can't remember the last time he wanted to kiss someone this much. 

He tries to think back, tries to remember when it was that he started wanting it, and his memory keeps returning to a day last month when he and Paul had been sitting at a bar together after a gig, half-consumed pints in front of them, eyes glazed from the God-knew-how-many pints that had come before them, bodies slumping forward slightly under the weight of the alcohol. John can remember looking at Paul's face—not for any particular reason, just because that was where his eyes had happened to land, and he'd been too smashed to exert the effort that finding something else to focus on would have required—and taking a moment to really look at Paul while the other lad had his eyes closed. 

He remembers hazily appreciating the play of dark eyelashes against cheeks flushed from drink and adrenaline, the last vestiges of childhood still clinging to a teenaged face, strong cheekbones and a defined jaw that would no doubt lead the charge of his features away from boyish cuteness and into genuine, adult beauty within the next few years. And then John's eyes had fallen to his lips, his plump, pretty lips, and he'd had the brief thought that he could, conceivably, lean in and kiss them in that moment. 

He'd brushed the thought off as drunken nonsense, but then Paul had opened those big, liquid eyes of his and given John a dreamy, intoxicated smile, and John had instantly regretted the missed opportunity. Since then, he'd made a study of Paul's lips, and slowly but surely come to terms with his desperate desire to kiss them. 

He feels like he _should_ kiss them, even. He's known Paul for years; they've grown from boys to men together, know each other, it seems to John, as well as they know their respective selves. John suspects that to kiss Paul would feel natural, almost inevitable. And so, he wants to take the step, wants to know how Paul kisses from a firsthand point of view, wants the one intimate detail missing from their intense, close relationship. He's seen Paul naked, any number of times. He's felt Paul's erection against him when they've woken up after a night of sharing a bed together. He knows what Paul sounds like when he jacks off, for chrissakes. After all that, what's so bloody weird about a kiss? What's so damned _intimidating_? 

John's never kissed another man before. He's wondered about what it might be like, but he's never had a particular, concrete man he wanted to kiss. Not until Paul. He wants to kiss Paul so badly that he's contemplating how best to go about it, rather than trying to forget he ever had the thought, which, all things considered, is probably what he ought to be doing. 

Should he ask Paul first, or should he just do it? That's the main question at this point, not whether or not it should happen. John has decided that it _needs_ to happen; he can't go much longer without it happening. He'll go fucking mental. 

Asking first would necessitate explaining, which John doesn't know how to do, and besides, Paul might say no, and John isn't sure how he'd handle it if he did. And so, he eventually resolves to throw caution to the wind and just do it. He'll deal with the consequences later, he decides, after he gets that kiss. 

He gets his chance in the afternoon, when Paul comes over to play the guitar and try to write some music with him. They've been doing this for several years now, sometimes successfully, sometimes not. Always, they have fun; always, they enjoy each other's company. But this time, John plans on changing their routine. 

Paul is practicing a new chord change and doesn't notice that John has stopped playing his own guitar and is staring at him. John's gaze moves over the bowed head, the dark hair falling over those focused eyes, the graceful fingers shifting back and forth on the neck of the instrument. John thinks Paul is rather curiously beautiful when he plays, as if he's concentrating on something so fleeting that he might lose it if he looks away for an instant; something just out of his reach that he wants to capture and keep. On the occasions that he does manage to catch it, the melodies he produces can be heartbreakingly lovely. Paul is talented, intimidatingly so, and John wants to kiss him more than ever. 

Feeling as if his movements are being controlled by a dispassionate outsider, John lifts his guitar over his head and lays it down beside him. At the sound of the guitar being placed upon the floor, Paul looks up, meets John's eyes as John stands, goes over to the bed where Paul is sitting, sits beside him. 

Paul doesn't say a word, nor does he break eye contact. Their faces are very close. Paul's hands have frozen on the guitar strings. 

John glances at Paul's lips, then back to his eyes. He sees his friend swallow, does likewise. 

He sucks in a breath, then: “I'm going to kiss you now,” he announces. 

Paul stares at him, looking taken aback, and then his mouth opens into an 'o' of surprise, which only serves to heighten John's determination that this absolutely _has_ to happen _now._

After a long moment, Paul softly says “Ok”. 

John leans in slowly, slowly. He sees Paul's eyes close, feels his own fall shut almost involuntarily as he brushes their lips together. At first, it's barely a touch, but, to John's surprise, it's Paul who opens his mouth and presses closer. John kisses him for real, then, his instincts taking over, the memories of hundreds of kisses from his past driving the motions that by now have become second nature. He doesn't let their lips separate for a second; just continues to move his in and out, opening and closing his mouth, capturing Paul's lower lip and letting it go, only to feel it return again and again. A spark of want; a demanding little shock of desire for _more_ , pushes its way from their joined lips into his throat and down to his stomach, and John slides his tongue out, running it over Paul's lip. 

Paul moans, actually fucking _moans,_ and John is suddenly as hard as he's ever been in his life. He feels Paul's tongue caress his, and then, abruptly, the connection of their mouths isn't enough; John needs to _touch_ him. He reaches out and clutches at Paul's neck with both hands, just like he's imagined dozens of times, and drags him closer, mashing their lips together harder. Paul's teeth latch onto John's bottom lip and he bites down, and the force of it makes John groan loudly. He pushes his fingers through Paul's hair, pulls slightly on the dark brown strands, feels one of Paul's hands come up to cradle his face. Rather forcefully, Paul tilts John's head so that he can come at him from an elevated angle, taking possession of the kiss, and John is surprised to find that he's very, _very_ ok with no longer being the dominant one. He lets Paul kiss him, responding with enthusiasm, until their kisses slow down again, enough that John registers that both their mouths are coated in their mixed saliva. It's none too elegant, but it hardly matters, because John has finally gotten what he wanted. 

When the kiss finally breaks, they peel their lips apart slowly, from bottom to top, as if it's not easy for either of them to move apart from the other. Their eyes open, and then they're staring at each other again. 

John clears his throat. “Paul,” he says, his voice rough and scratchy. 

Paul rubs his lips together. “Yeah, John?” he asks. 

John looks pointedly at Paul's guitar. “Put that on the floor,” he orders, and Paul scrambles to obey. 


End file.
